True Evil

Will grinned. 'I've got that same feeling you were talking about before.'

Alex was thinking about the electric bill. 'You ever hear of a vet named Noel Traver?'

'A military vet?'

'No, a veterinarian.'

'Can't say I have. But Traver is pretty damn close to Tarver, ain't it?'

Alex pictured the notepad in her mind, substituting letters-'Shit! It's an anagram.'

'Eldon Tarver and Noel Traver?'

'Noel D. Traver, I should have said. There was a note on a desk in there about a late electric bill.'

'Now we're getting somewhere.' Will's eyes flashed. 'A cancer doctor with an alias. That make sense to you?'

'Not unless he's married to two women,' Alex thought aloud. 'Something like that.'

'Or tax evasion,' Will suggested with a laugh. 'Maybe those guys were with the IRS.'

'I think it's time to find out.'

He grinned. 'You want to go back and see how long that guy stays inside the clinic?'

'Yeah. Make the block. I wish I had my computer.'

'If he's still there, maybe Tarver is inside with him.'

Will hit the gas and made the block, not even stopping for a red light. The instant they turned back onto Jefferson Street, Alex saw that the dark sedan was gone.

'If I had to guess,' said Will, 'I'd say he's headed for the interstate.'

'Let me out here. I'll jog to my car.'

Will slammed on the brakes, and Alex jumped onto the pavement. When the detective floored it, the door slammed shut by itself.

CHAPTER 44

'Describe her to me,' said Dr. Tarver.

Edward Biddle pursed his lips and looked around the spartan office. Dr. Tarver knew Biddle was wondering if this was the place were the 'groundbreaking' research had been done. 'About five-eight,' Biddle said. 'Dark hair, pretty, scars on the right side of her face. Almost like shrapnel scars.'

Dr. Tarver tried to keep his face impassive, but Biddle could not be deceived.

'Who is she, Eldon? Another of your obsessions?'

Dr. Tarver had almost forgotten what it was like to be in the company of someone who knew his private predilections. 'She's an FBI agent. She's working alone, though, no support from the Bureau.'

He expected to see anxiety in Biddle's eyes, but he saw only displeasure. 'An FBI agent?'

'She's not a problem, Edward. That's an unrelated matter. Is your car still out there?'

Biddle waved his hand as though making the car vanish with his gesture. 'Let's get down to brass tacks. What have you got?'

Five minutes ago, Dr. Tarver had been pumped and ready to make his pitch; then Alexandra Morse had walked through the front door. 'I need to take care of something first. Give me just one minute.'

Biddle wasn't accustomed to waiting, but he raised his hand in assent.

Eldon left the office and walked into his private restroom down the hall. The door said PHLEBOTOMIST. He wasn't about to share a toilet seat with the scuzziest 5 percent of the population of Jackson, Mississippi. Even excluding the viruses he had given them, many of the clinic's patients carried most of the nastiest bugs resident in the American population. He closed the door and leaned back against it, his heart thudding in his chest.

A few minutes ago he had been focused on the terms of his negotiation with Biddle. Now Alex Morse had put the whole deal in jeopardy. If she weren't so goddamned observant, her visit might have meant little. But she was. If Morse could look at a photo of this clinic for a few seconds and make the connection to Pullo's restaurant, then she would eventually realize that the army major in the VCP photo she had noticed in his office was the same man she had seen walking into the clinic this afternoon. Thirty years had passed since their VCP days, but Biddle looked essentially the same. His hair was gray now, but he still had his hair, the son of a bitch. And not only had Morse seen Biddle enter the clinic-she had exchanged words with him. Yes, she would remember him, all right. And once she did, she would quickly uncover the true nature of the VCP. And that would allow her to track Eldon Tarver from his old life to his new one.

Eldon couldn't take that chance. He could not take on his new identity until Alex Morse was dead.

He was lucky that Pearson had called to warn him that Morse might show up. She made a big deal about the restaurant, Eldon, and she's the type to come down and make a nuisance of herself. I probably said too much, but Chris Shepard is a highly reputable internist from Natchez. I just wanted you to know, so you wouldn't be blindsided by the girl.

'Blindsided,' Dr. Tarver murmured. 'FUBAB, more like.'

Killing an FBI agent was risky. If you did that, you were asking to be hounded to the ends of the earth for as long as you lived. In the carport he had acted on instinct. He would have to give it careful thought. Right now he had business to take care of: the biggest deal of his life. He flushed the toilet for cover, then walked back into his office, sat behind his desk, and folded his hands Buddha-style over his stomach.

'You want to know what I've got, Edward?'

Biddle's pale blue eyes were those of a man who had handled many critical negotiations. Bullshit did not fly in the rooms he worked. 'You know me, Eldon. Straight to business.'

Dr. Tarver leaned back in his chair. 'I've got exactly what you were looking for all those years ago.'

'Which is?'

'The Holy Grail.'

Biddle just stared.

'The perfect weapon.'

'Perfect is a mighty big word, Eldon.'

Dr. Tarver smiled. He doubted they ever said 'mighty big' at Yale, which was where Biddle had gone to college. He must have picked it up at Detrick.

'How about a weapon that is one hundred percent lethal, yet which no one could ever prove was a weapon at all? It makes BW agents like anthrax or even smallpox relics of the Dark Ages. Wasn't it you who spoke of the Holy Grail at Detrick, Edward? A weapon that couldn't be perceived as a weapon?'

'Yes. But every scientist who ever worked for me helped prove that it was impossible.'

'Oh, it's possible. It already exists.' Eldon opened his desk drawer and took out a small vial filled with brownish liquid. 'Here it is.'

'What is it?'

'A retrovirus.'

Biddle sniffed. 'Source?'

'Simian, of course, as we always suspected. And as AIDS proved viable.'

'What do you call it?'

Dr. Tarver smiled. 'Kryptonite.'

Biddle wasn't laughing. 'Are you serious?'

'It's just a working name. The actual viral pedigree must remain my proprietary secret, for now. But if you decide to-'

'Buy it?'

'Just so. If you decide to buy it, then you can look behind the curtain and you can call it whatever you